Let's Do Lunch
by TheFriendlyBookworm
Summary: A random series of oneshots that take place with our favorite three in Officer's Mess. Warning for overdose of fluff.  Non-slash.
1. Preferences

Kirk pushed away his empty tray and took a long sip from his coffee, ending with a gratified little sigh. Leaning forward on his elbows, he eyed his CMO sitting opposite. "So, Bones, what was your favorite subject in school?"

McCoy glanced up at him, in the process of sawing off a bite of synthetic t-bone. "You mean the Academy?"

"Well, no...I was thinking more school-school. You know, young and impetuous?"

"Hmph," through a full mouth. "Well, I liked anatomy in elementary, you know. I wanted to be a doctor since I visited my great-uncle's clinic when I was three. In highschool, I couldn't wait for the dissections; always liked'em."

"Much the same way, I presume, you enjoy performing surgery on the crew," intoned a familiar baritone from behind McCoy.

The doctor jumped, sending a glob of mashed potatoes sailing into Kirk's coffee with a mushy splat. "Spock, quite sneaking up on people like that! One of these days you'll give me a nervous breakdown, I swear," he finished, shoving another forkful of steak into his mouth. Smirking up at the Vulcan, he added wickedly, "And next time you need surgery for whatever dumb stunt you tried to pull to save the universe, I'll just _dissect_ you instead. Always wondered where that missing heart really was."

Kirk chuckled and proceeded to fish the potato out of his coffee. "Sit down, Spock. We were just discussing school. What were your favorite subjects?"

Spock sat, bearing a tray with a bowl of gray-green glop that Kirk assumed was _plomeek_ soup. "Vulcans do not have pref-"

He was cut off by a wave of McCoy's hand. "Yeah, yeah, heard that already. Of course you had favorite subjects. In highschool, let's say. Or whatever that's equivalent to on Vulcan."

"Terran highschool is the rough equivalent of Vulcan primary school," Spock replied, opening and spreading his napkin with typical precision.

McCoy muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "smart-alec," but Spock merely cocked a tolerant eyebrow and continued. "Earth history particularly interested me."

"What part?" Kirk asked.

"The literature fascinated me as a child." Spock took a bit of soup and swallowed.

McCoy piped up. "Like, Einstein's theories? Or maybe Confucius?"

The Vulcan's eyebrows kinked slightly. "I always found Lewis G. Carroll's works quite interesting."

The CMO's fork stopped halfway to his mouth and Kirk choked on his coffee.

One pair of Vulcan ears flushed viridian.


	2. Spaghetti

Captain Kirk plunked his tray of ham sandwich and chips down on the table next to Dr. McCoy. "Heya, Bones, what's that?" The latter was directed to the doctor's lunch tray, which held some unidentifiable mixture of green and brown, with an occasional dash of red thrown in.

McCoy looked up, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Why, Captain, don't you know today is _Interplanetary__Food__Appreciation__Day_? You're supposed to try something new."

Kirk's eyebrows kinked. "_Interplanetary__Food__Appreciation__Day_?"

"That, Captain, is a recent institution, put into place by a small group outside of the Federation known as _Infinite__Diversity__Everyday_, which is devoted to integrating various racial customs into everyday life across the galaxy. This is one method. It has caught on with remarkable rapidity." A familiar, toneless voice sounded over Kirk's shoulder, causing him to stretch around to see the speaker.

"Oh, hey, Spock. Well, if this appreciation day is so big, why haven't I heard about it?"

Spock gave an eyebrow-shrug and sat down next to Kirk. McCoy broke in, poking Kirk in the arm. "C'mon, ya gotta try something. This dish, for instance, is a gourmet delicacy from Eminiar 7, known as...oh, I can't remember the name. But it's pretty good, once you get past the texture."

Kirk gave the tray a suspicious stare. "I didn't know we had that...stuff available."

McCoy shoved another forkful of glop into his mouth, talking all the while. "We don't. I got an extension meal card at the base last time we stopped, it happened to be compatible with our selectors. You can borrow it if you'd like," he finished generously.

Kirk sighed and pushed the ham sandwich away. "Alright, what've you got?"

McCoy gave a Cheshire-cat grin and started ticking dishes off on his fingers. "Lezzee...this stuff...some other Eminiar dishes...Tellarite smoked _t'linga_...Talin _gashmak_soup...some Vulcan dishes Spock could tell you about, and some Andorian desserts." He smirked. "Whatcha gonna pick?"

Kirk gave an exaggerated grimace. "You notice I've never gotten an extension card...it's for a reason." He sighed. "I guess I'll go with the Talin soup." He glanced, curious, over at Spock, who had been sitting silently without a tray. "Aren't you gonna have something, Spock?"

The Vulcan tipped his head slightly. "Affirmative, Captain, I was simply curious as to what you were going to choose in honor of _Interplanetary__Food__Appreciation__Day._"

"Well, now you know." Kirk grinned. "But you have to have something different too." He glanced over at McCoy, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips. "Whaddya say, Bones, that we introduce Spock to some more..._Terran_...dishes?"

Spock decidedly didn't like the glint that entered the physician's cerulean eyes.

"I think that's the best idea I've heard in a long time, Jim-boy," he drawled, a smile slowly spreading across his features.

Kirk promptly hopped up from his chair, grabbing his discarded tray. "Well, whatcha waitin' for? Come on, Bones, I need your card." With that, he strode off across the room towards the selectors.

Spock stood hesitantly, waiting for the doctor. McCoy scooted around him, heading after Kirk. "Aw, Spock, ya just _can't_ let us down this time. After all, aren't Vulcans the ones who are so into the whole _IDIC_ thing?"

Watching him practically skip off after the captain, Spock tried to refrain from indulging in the human custom known as sighing. He started across the room after the exultant pair.

When he caught up with them at the selector, McCoy promptly dove into Spock's culinary history. "So what Earth foods have you had so far, Spock?" he queried.

"When I was a small child, my mother once served me a dish known most commonly, I believe, as 'macaroni and cheese.' " He shuddered inwardly at the remembrance...small, somewhat tasteless noodles floating in an ocean of slimy yellow sauce which tasted strongly of chemicals.

Kirk cocked a teasing eyebrow at him. "You don't look too happy about the fact."

"It was...an experience I would not deem necessary."

Kirk chuckled softly, nudging McCoy in the ribs. "Well, I have something a little different in mind...how about spaghetti, Bones?"

The physician looked faintly confused. "Sounds kinda...well..."

"...Tame? Oh, but you forget there's more to it."

McCoy's eyes lit up with some manner of common knowledge. "Ya know, I think you're right, Jim...spaghetti's a great idea." He spread his drawl out as far as it would go.

Spock sent a strong mental suggestion to his stomach, in an attempt to dispel the strange sinking feeling.

Kirk snatched a tray from the pile next to the selector nearest them, then shoved a meal card in the slot, tapping something in on the keyboard. The selector promptly whisked open, ejecting a steaming bowl of orange soup onto his tray. Kirk sniffed it curiously, then straightened up, grinning at the world in general. "Smells like carrots."

McCoy snorted. "Step One in curing the Foreign Food Phobia of Jim Kirk." He gestured for Spock to move ahead of him at the selector.

Kirk politely slid himself and his tray aside. "Bones, would you do the honors?"

"Most certainly, Captain. Your meal card, Spock." The doctor held out a hand expectantly, and a small, flat data disk was plopped coolly into his palm, accompanied with a you-are-so-illogical-and-may-I-add-wierd stare. McCoy ignored the look and turned his attention to the disk, which he slid into the selector. After a few taps on the small screen which adorned the wall above, he was rewarded with a plate of perfectly-twirled spaghetti and vegetarian non-meatballs. "Your meal," he smirked.

Spock picked up the tray hesitantly, momentarily debating whether or not to shove it down the recycling chute and order something more to his palette. His decision was made for him when Kirk, who was trotting back to their table amid knowing grins from the other diners, chirped back at him over his shoulder. "Come on, Spock, we're back on shift in a few minutes!"

He headed back to the table, bearing his unwelcome burden and accompanied by a doctor who was chattering about various spices used in certain Terran foods known as Italian.

Kirk was already seated, happily consuming Talin soup and thinking that he really did need to get an extension meal card. He looked up at his First as the Vulcan seated himself. Putting his spoon down, he assumed the air of a proud parent. "Alright, Commander, let me introduce you to a long-time and well-loved Earth food known as 'spaghetti.' I apologize for any resemblance to macaroni and cheese, but at least the sauce is different." He looked apologetically at the twining noodles.

Spock sighed softly through his nose. "Please continue, Captain."

McCoy cut in. "Enough with the history, Jim, show him how to eat it!"

Kirk nodded. "I'm getting to that." He grabbed the fork off his tray, hooked a noodle off the perfectly spiraled pile, and stuck in his mouth. A long, sauce-covered tail hung out of his mouth, and Spock wondered how humans managed to maintain any dignity with such foods. It was a struggle to keep his eyebrows down when Kirk began sucking on the noodle, and it rapidly disappeared into his mouth. He munched happily for a minute, then swallowed. "See, it's not too hard." Kirk's face remained straight, but a slight twitching at the corners of his mouth gave him away.

Spock picked up his fork and hesitated. "Captain, would it not be far easier to consume if you sliced the noodles into smaller pieces first?"

McCoy had been sitting quietly, watching, eating the now-cold brown goop and sipping on some coffee which seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Now he cut in, and impatient note in his voice. "Just eat it, Spock, there's no fun in cutting it up. Too many little pieces."

Strange that they insisted on eating this dish in such an illogical way, when there was obviously a much easier and dignified method. Spock still hesitated, fork in hand. He had a feeling-not an emotion, mind you, but a little inkling in the back of his brain-that they knew exactly what they were doing, strange ways of nutritional consumption and all. But the captain had made it look quite easy, so it couldn't be that difficult...he took a deep breath, picked up a few noodles, put them in his mouth, and sucked.

The noodles seemed to have a mind of their own.

They twisted. Turned. Curled. Flipped around. He tried not to wince as one noodle stuck stubbornly to his chin, leaving a trail as he pulled it into his mouth. Finally, the last noodle (and the crowning indignity, he shuddered), leaped up and smacked him on the nose.

Kirk seemed to be having a fit of sorts, almost doubled over in his chair, face hidden in napkin. McCoy took a sip of his coffee and promptly choked, clapped a hand over his mouth, and dashed off.

Half an hour later, back on the Bridge, Kirk wondered why Spock seemed so preoccupied.

The bridge crew stared after him, puzzled, when an hour later the Vulcan suddenly dashed into the turbolift and barked "Sickbay," before the doors swished shut.

The CMO was speechless, when Spock suddenly burst into Sickbay and gasped, "I believe that Italian food does not agree with my physiology after all, Doctor."

Several days later in Officer's Mess, McCoy only chuckled when Spock twitched as Kirk set down his lunch tray, which bore a perfectly sculpted pile of spaghetti.


End file.
